AylaXdahlia

I write Intimacy & Adventure for women who are other. Find my stories FREE on Patreon: patreon.com/aylaXdahlia

[aylaxdahlia]

Chapter 2 of Root of the Harbinger

She woke at twilight. Before the sun had decided, but the light was insistent, its hum a tonal, dim blue that made everything glow. The wheat she passed, the curling grass, the cabins that spotted the horizon and eventually relented to scattered teepees again. The Boarders. She had lived there once, too old for Ata's cabin, suddenly. Too young and impressionable for the rest of the world.

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Adventure and Intimacy for women that are other (like me)

[aylaxdahlia]

Lyra. I saw you at the drone-tech's place again. My mother always said you'd have a 'restless' phase before we finally settled into the Block 4 Penthouse. I've already picked the curtains, steel gray to match your eyes.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

“Sometimes when I preview my mom’s voicemails my body has like this full flight response. My heart’s racing and I’m sweating. It’s like I’m a kid again and I still have nine years left on my sentence.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize. It’s just, it’s not just you. You’re not alone, or whatever.”

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

The poles rattled. She wrapped herself in furs near her sparking fire.

Her heart beat dully. She thought of their night in the herb shed and felt a low, undeniable pulse. She crossed her legs against it.

She had given too much. Like her mother who died for it, nine months later, when she came screaming and blood-soaked into the world.

Had let Cael at her like an animal in heat. He could've ripped her clothes and she still wouldn't have stopped him.

But he hadn't.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

Her ex had once referred to her as the boy in the relationship. She thought it may have had something to do with the way she carried herself. Nyv had been curvy, she was like a board.

Now, she was engaged to some other fucking bitch.

Lyra pulled up Nyv's profile after her first delivery, floating high up, level with the window of a high-rise having just dropped off a combo. Tap Out had stuck a sensor out the window to check traffic patterns. She clicked on Nyv's fiance next.

She always did this.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

 "She didn't like to talk when it wasn't necessary."

She liked grinding down herbs, and concocting potions at Haldra's instruction. Listening through the thin branch walls as Haldra pressed paste into wounds or bound bandages.

She often made her way between the Healer's Cabin, where Haldra saw patients, and the Herb shed, where the ingredients were stored. She retrieved whatever Haldra thought was needed for the day early. 

Then she went whenever members of the tribe turned up with something unexpected, like a certain rash or allergic reaction. Some took tonics every so often, like Ira, the woman who seized without them. Haldra had created the brew just for her. Prayed over it, knuckles clasped, on her knees, not an easy feat for a seventy-six year old woman, but still she'd done it.

Mora thought that was beautiful. But she didn't say anything like that to Haldra. She just asked her what she needed, and got it quickly. Or better yet, guessed before she asked. Haldra appreciated that. She would say, "Good work, girl," Sometimes Haldra gave her things she otherwise would never take from the stores, like a portion of turkey on a holiday, or baked peaches from her home. Those had been really good, she had almost asked Haldra how she made them, but she didn't like to talk when it wasn't necessary.

Sometimes Haldra told her stories, about her life, or herself, and she didn't do that when she was seeing patients. So Mora knew Haldra trusted her. Enough to feel comfortable with her silence, to know not to really push.

Mora had to remind herself it was Haldra who approached her when she was twelve and asked if she would like to work in her service. Asked her directly, like her answer mattered more than what Ata wanted for her.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

She still remembered that last night. Her wedding was close and she was eighteen now. She imagined Alistair whining to his mother about their wedding night. And something in her slowly bending had finally snapped.

She’d stolen first her father’s keys and then the car.

 He had said, I’ll drop the charges if you come back. They had her on video. She told him to fuck off and die. She’d had to go to court. Maybe he didn’t want to see Lyra, furious and on her own and fighting, because he hadn’t shown up.

The charges were dropped.  And she was officially completely on her own in the neon city.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

“We’re not friends just because I’m polite to you. I’d just rather keep my neck about me,” Thatcher said, never looking away from Mora. “So don’t be asking me questions about him.”

Mora froze, taken aback - injured, like the slicing arrow of a hunter’s best crossbow slicking into flesh. And that was his right, wasn’t it? To loose that arrow. To call these ends what they were.

“You are mean,” she told him.

“And you are a child,” he said, and there was only more silence.

She collected herself, rising to leave him. Thatcher didn’t stop her.

**

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[vamplire]

may you attract someone who treats you like they want you in their veins

[aylaxdahlia]

In the cult, Lyra had done precious little. She was contract bound and destined for Alistair, kid of a big-wig, future big-wig himself. He’d tried to kiss her once and she’d bit him so hard his lip bled. His mother had been pissed. Then hers. After that she had the perfect nickname for him.

Momma’s boy.

Because he literally told her everything.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

She really thought she would never want anyone in that way before she met Nyv. Something was fundamentally broken and it showed.

Nyv had kind of liked that.

It made her want to test the limits of Lyra’s over-clocked system. She seemed to enjoy having that kind of power.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

“The fuck, Jer...” She could hear music playing low in the hovercraft. “Hello, Jerry?” The girl sounded annoyed.

There was a sound. Lyra imagined her climbing out of the hovercraft, into the window, because when she spoke again she was further away. “What the fuck- oh my god – oh my god-,” her panic came in a burst. “How do I-.” Then, a bang, like books falling off a table, or a head hitting a wall.

Silence. The eerie sound of the recording drawing to a halt.

Though she had felt hot before, Lyra now felt cold all over. Part of her had expected there wouldn’t be any recording to find. But there it was, just like before.

Koa looked at her as if she had answers. Sizing her up, now.

“Is this what you heard?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Could it be like…I don’t know, some kind of hallucination?”

He shook his head, slow. “These models don’t hallucinate. It should've been wiped but somehow the file's still here. I don't know what triggered it. Could've been some tech interference. It's not unheard of.”

“Do you think…she worked at Sorrel’s?”

“I don’t know,” Koa said. “Is that where you work?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling a bit lost. “They just hired me. I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Now she was trying to answer her own questions.

She leaned back in the chair, gripping the arms. If it was her, she would want someone to care. Not to just try and forget it. 

“Are you going to…find out?” he asked.

There was a spark of curiosity in his eye, despite his attempt to sound nonchalant.

“I have to,” she said. “I don’t even know if anybody else has heard that. And like what am I going to do, show it to DJ? She’ll be so helpful.”

“Someone else was driving that hovercraft before you came along,” Koa said. “Start there. Easy.”

“Easy,” she repeated, almost annoyed. 

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

He knocked on the post outside her tipi. Twice.

She recognized the sound. Pulled back the hide of the door. Stared, as if not expecting to see him, then stepped aside so he could enter.

He had to bend to do so, standing at the center of the tipi to keep from ducking his head. He glanced around, taking in the small ornaments that made it home. Tallow candles, hanging sheaths of herb, the snicker of the fire.

Only the crickets chirped, low. Finally he looked back at her, and she watched him.

"You don't know what you're asking, Mora," he said. "Leave it alone."

"I know when something is being kept from me," she said, stubborn as an ox. Ata had hated that. Cael would probably learn to hate it too, and quickly.

"Not everything out there is meant to be understood." The crickets rubbed their legs feverishly. She listened. "You trust me, don't you?" he asked, and before she could answer. "Let me handle it."

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

Hans said hello to her, he always said hello to her. Which would be fine, if he didn't say it each time like he were doing Mora a favor. She folded her hands in her lap, her fingers pressing into her palms, and the quiet charge she’d shared with Cael slipped away like smoke.

"What did you do today?" Hans asked her.

"Not very much," she said.

"You should ask me," he mentioned.

She winced. Her mouth twitched like she might obey.

But she felt a spark, white-hot, like it had carelessly lifted from the forging of something sharp and hard inside her. Something Cael had put there, she carried it in her ribs.

"I should?" she asked, playing dumb.

She imagined Cael watching, out of the corner of his eye, even if he did not look outright.

He was listening. Curious about how she handled a man like Hans, in the aftermath of a man like him.

"Yeah, remember last time when I talked to you about comradery. It's built on the back of...," Hans paused, like she might remember what he was talking about. She only stared. "Decency," he reminded her.

"Are you calling me indecent?" she asked, letting her head tip like a bemused puppy.

"Well, no, I-," Hans scrambled, not appreciating the challenge. Mostly, not expecting it. "I never said that. It's just reputations are built on habit, and habit is going to keep you stuck."

"I'm not stuck," she snapped, moving to her feet. "Nobody asked you." She turned heel, walking away. She could hear the teeth of Cael's blade on the whetstone as he ground again. Imagined a small twitch in his jaw but did not pause to check.

Hans snorted, faintly.

"Did that not go how you planned?" Cael asked him.

The sound of his voice stopped her in the trees, though her steps had been so quick. 

Hans turned slowly, as if he had not seen Cael before. But Cael knew he had. 

"I try to be helpful," Hans said. "Poor girl's a pariah."

Cael blew on his blade. Small particles took to the air, scattered. "She is too pretty to be a pariah," he said. "Are you trying to make her your wife?"

Hans laughed, as if he hadn't thought of it. But Cael only looked at him like he did not believe him.

"She's a sweet girl," Hans said. "But there are lots of sweet girls without reputations like hers."

"Then why are you so interested in fixing her?" Cael asked, raising a dark brow. He pointed with his knife, carelessly, into the overhead boughs of leaves. "If you do not care."

"Just trying to make the tribe better, for everyone," Hans said, and Cael snorted, low.

"You could start a choir," Cael said. "Volunteer in the nursery to rock the orphans. Could get on your knees and shine the Master of the Hunt's shoes. But you choose the noble cause, of leading naive maidens."

Hans expression shifted, momentarily confused. "I didn't know you knew her like that," he said.

"Like what?" Cael asked.

"Like at all."

"I know what I saw," Cael said, rising. He slid the blade into the sheath at his waist. Fixed Hans with a final look. "And that was enough." 

He walked past, there shoulders brushing then knocking just. Hans stayed there several seconds longer, wondering what had just happened.

[aylaxdahlia]

The shark was a baby, not nearly as impossible as they got when they were fully-grown. Cael absolutely could have held it in both hands and then some. But he didn't see why he should strain himself, when she was just sitting, looking pretty.

The corner of his lip flickered when he saw her. Remembering faintly how he had her, hips twitching, making soft barely there sounds he'd had to strain his ears to hear.

Then sweet release, like an answer to a prayer he didn't know he was praying. 

He wondered, then, if he could ever get her to say his name like that. Just once. He'd make it worth it.

But he hadn't said anything at all. Didn't want to ruin it.

Now, he dropped his catch in the fingertips of the tide. Some boys ran past with a ball, playing a game. He ignored them and walked directly up to her.

Where she sat, back against a tree, watching the sea. And then him, shielding her eyes, as if suddenly the sun were too bright.

He beckoned her, once. One finger.

She got up immediately, followed him to the surf. There he lifted the front end of the shark, and she lifted the back, both carrying it under one arm. Of course, it drooped at the tail because she was shorter.

There were too many people, on the way, in the stores. So she didn't speak and neither did he.  

**

ROOT OF THE HABRINGER

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[aylaxdahlia]

After he pushed the table back against the wall without being asked. He sat crosslegged before the fire and she put their plates in water, to wash after he left.

She sat next to him on the floor. He reached for her arm, and she gave it to him. "Let me show you where I've been," he said,, and began tracing with his index finger.

First, their compound, by a freckle. Then South. "I went here with my father," he said. "Across the river. There's a faction there. Ghiri of the Odomites," he said. "They call the land The Pale. Then, East." He travelled across her skin. "Sixteen miles or so. That's swamp so thick you'd think nothing thrives there. But things do. All kinds of things."

Slow warmth bloomed under the trails he took. He knew this, and turned each corner slowly, turning his story into something almost tactile.

How she fit his entire world, on her wrist, she didn't know.

She just watched, enchanted.

**

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[aylaxdahlia]

A horn like a shrill scream cried out into the street. Lyra’s vision filled with violent yellow light. The brakes squealed and the car stopped short, inches short of knocking against her legs.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” she yelled, slamming a hand down on the hood of the car.

The driver thrust his head out the window. Mid-forties, balding, completely typical. “Check the road, stupid bitch!” he spat.

She stepped out of the way, turning to give him the finger.  He revved his engine threateningly then drove off, leaving the pavement wet with oil, the smell of exhaust burning her nose.

She looked up and Motorcycle Guy was staring at her, helmet tucked under his arm. Silver-blonde mussed like he'd just run his fingers through it.

She stepped up onto the sidewalk.

She’d seen him around the building before. Usually his helmet was on, but not this time. “Are you okay?” he asked her, though she’d never heard him speak before.

The sound surprised her. Usually when she daydreamed about him, he didn’t talk at all.

“I’m fine,” she said, heart still racing.

“Fucking dumbass,” he told her, lifting a cigarette from his lips. “That guy.”

They stared at each other a beat. “Yeah,” she said, finally.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the brick. “Night,” he said, then turned, disappearing into their building. She watched him disappear inside, kicking herself.

Fumbled that, totally, Lyra thought.

 She liked to act like nothing phased her but she knew she was kind of transparent. Not shy, just ill prepared. Her mother had made sure simple interactions felt almost life threatening.

And she was never confident after a shift. She smelled like their Wednesday Special, fried shrimp & ample cocktail sauce.

Excellent impression, she thought, taking the elevator up.

**

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